Bringing Faith to Life
kinesthetic
The Big Finish
09 months
Dear Kinesthetic Christian friends and fans,
Since July of 2012 I have been posting to this space, as a way to explore and share ideas about an embodied faith — a faith that lives and moves and has its being in and through me. Perhaps it feels so also with you. Thank you, Dear Reader, for your time in commenting, responding and encouraging me along the way.
At 835 published posts, I am drawing the Kinesthetic Christian blog to a close. But before I go… I have reorganized the Kinesthetic Christian site to feature my favorite “evergreen” posts in categories: “FAITH,” “HOPE,” and “LOVE.”
As scripture tells us, “Faith, hope, and love remain, these three, and the greatest of these is love.” Surely, you’ll agree, our world needs more of all three. I hope you’ll visit the site and share what speaks faith to you with those you love.
Faithfully Yours,
Wendy Rilling LeBolt
Kinesthetic Christian
Can God speak to us through our bodies?
010 months
God speaks to us through our bodies.
Why is that so hard to believe? We say that 70% of communication is non-verbal. Why do we insist that God speak through our listening ears? What do we perceive non-verbally?
Well, this may sound nonsensical, because in normal conversation, what we mean by non-verbal is messaging though “body-language.” What do their facial expressions say? What does their hand-positioning tell us? their posture? their movement? This is the language of their bodies? God doesn’t have a body — at least not one we can see and touch. At least not me.
What if God is speaking God’s nonverbal expression through MY body? Uniquely and specifically to me? How would I listen? How would I interpret? How would I attend to what God is speaking? If am not aware of God, is there something getting in the way and scrambling our communication?
Much depends on my relationship with my own body. So what does you body say to you when you address it? is your body telling you?Do you find yourself in any of these? here?
- the avoider: I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s change the subject. let’s talk about something else. So, how are you doing…?
- The excuse maker: I don’t speak that language. (I’m not coordinated, not good at sports, never got picked for the team, really not very competitive.)
- the ashamed: I can’t talk about that. Am uncomfortable talking about my body. am ashamed, embarassed, have been hurt of abused.
- the guilty: There’s nothing wrong with what I am doing. Nothing to see here. Move along. unaware or blind to the connection between body and God, in denial
- the arguer, reasoner/rationalizer: The Bible says the flesh is bad, but the spirit is good. I choose to focus on the spirit. After all, this body of mine is just a temporary possession. gonna perish anyway.
Avoiding, excusing, shaming, denying, and arguing are all ways we step away from this conversation. In doing so, do we miss a blessed, poignant and personal way God created for us to be aware of Him? Forfeit an intimate connection? Miss perhaps 70% of what God is speaking?
Perhaps this is the most essential message of the coming of Christ: fully divine AND fully human, incarnated. Here in the flesh. God, knowing our reluctant selves, argumentative, avoidant, shamed and guilty selves, said, I can live in that body. When I do, I can take the helm, if you give it to me. I will speak course correction, signal change of heading, chart the course, and apply the rudder. Heck, I can even still the winds blowing us off course.
The keys are two: attend to My touch and apply my direction. Use your body’s awareness of me to accept my guidance. (like horse and rider)
Try: ask your body to respond to these commands/instructions:
- slow,
- calm,
- focus
- look
- listen
- breathe
- imagine
- attend
- release
- turn
- wait
- GO!
These commands are activated in our flesh, through our physical nature. God speaks to us, so God can speak through us.
Of course, one can only be guided when one is moving. Nothing (but God) can correct the course of something that refuses to budge, arms crossed. Movement in any direction, God can work with.
Folded hands which signal I’m not budging is something God refuses to override.
We are made to move. Our bodies — heart, soul, mind, strength and spirit — remind us of this everyday. It’s the way God intended to get and keep our attention. It’s why God gave us a body — to incline us to follow Him in this earthly lifetime.
*(This is the thesis of my book, Made to Move: (learning to) Knowing and Loving God through our Bodies, find it here.)
Recipe for Life
212 years
Some things you just have to learn by doing.
That was yesterday’s final email in an exchange with my daughter, now in law school, who asked, “Okay. I ordered chicken breasts through Peapod, but how do I cook them????????????????” And yes, there is much angst contained in those ???s
This is a capable young woman, smart as a whip, aces tests, papers. She’s logical, athletic, coordinated, beautiful and she has no idea how to cook a chicken breast.
Some things you’re not born with and nobody sits you down to explain step by step on the chalkboard. (Although truth be told, we did make numerous efforts to teach her the basics, to which she responded, “Pfft. I know how to do that.”) Some things you just have to learn by doing.
I have found life is that way for me. Sure, there are cookbooks. Yes, as a Christian I have the Bible. And I believe the recipes for life are right there. But I must be about working out the details in order to get it right. A pinch more of this. A dash more of that.
Who am I kidding? I would like to think it was pinches and dashes. But no, more often there are:
- things burned to a crisp that beg me to listen for the oven beep.
- desperate efforts to extract the tablespoon that was supposed to be a teaspoon of that.
- forgotten ingredients because I was in a rush.
- substitutions made because I forgot to put THAT on the grocery list.
Nope. I am not a great cook. But I do make a mean zucchini bread. And I am learning that tossing ingredients in the crock pot just to see how they taste often works out just fine. Hey, if not, we chew and smile and make a note not to make THAT again.
And isn’t that the Christian life, really? Read the Book. Follow the directions. Taste and see. Evaluate your effort. Repeat.
Somehow in the doing, we get better and better. Funny how we obsess about what we bring to the table. Christ told us bread and wine was enough. Our families, however, demand chicken and rice. I can do that.
The Pavlovian ding of my phone
212 years
When my phone dings, I look at it. Well, not only do I look but I pick it up and enable the message so I can see who’s “calling.” I think probably I have been trained all my life to do this – answer the ding. Alexander Graham Bell was no dummy, after all.
The problem is, my NEED to answer it. Even when I am out to lunch with a friend (but I’ve left my phone on in case my …family is trying to reach me…remember the days when it didn’t bother you if someone could reach you? but I digress). There the phone sits on the table. I’ve turned down the ringer, perhaps disabled the vibrate function, but it just emits that little “ding.” Immediately, my eyes shoot to the small screen. What is it? a text? a Facebook message? an email? which account?
Oh, I could ignore this, easily enough, or could I? And this is what’s bothering me. I feel like Pavlov’s dog. The minute that phone dings, it has my complete attention. Even if I am listening to my friend, my mind has lept to the ding.
So, I could put my phone away. I could turn it off and put it in my bag. I could, for crying out loud, leave it at home. But I don’t. Because it’s an extension of me. It’s like my extension cord to the world. As long as I have my phone, I’m plugged in.
People expect this. If someone is trying to call and I don’t pick up, they send me an angry text message. “Mom, answer your phone!” Guess who THAT message is from.
So have these people trained me? Are they Pavlov and I the dog? Did I give them my permission to do this?
Ha. The clothes just finished in my washing machine. Guess how I know. It dinged. Guess what I DIDN’T do. Jump up and answer the ding. Hmm. So, why can I ignore the ding of the washer and not the ding of my phone? Now THAT may be the question. This “automatic” response that seems reflexive and unavoidable, can in fact, be overridden.
What is the difference between the washer ding and the phone ding? Honestly, it’s what will happen if I make it wait. And THAT is what I better be giving some serious thought to.
In the meantime, I really wish they would make it against the law to answer your cell phone while driving. Then, I would have a good excuse not to answer those impatient texters, angry I haven’t picked up my phone. Funny that I need a law to set boundaries for me, rather than setting them for myself. The weight of expectation is heavy. A huge magnetic pull for something I can’t even see.
If God had a ding, what would it sound like? How would I receive it? How would I know who sent it? Would I change course in an instant like I do for my phone? “Excuse me, I have to take this God-ding.” Or would I make Him wait, like I do my washer, because He’ll be there when I get around to responding?
Time In a Body
012 years
A friend is having surgery tomorrow. Needs his meniscus repaired. He messaged me on Facebook a week or two ago to ask whether I thought he should get a second opinion. Because, after “this guy gets the MRI results he might not want to do what I want to do.” Which, I subsequently found out, was to avoid surgery and “just rehab the knee to make it work so I can run again.”
I explained what I knew about menisci and their pesky tendency not to heal themselves because they don’t have their own blood supply and rarely are near enough to steal from a nearby vessel. He thanked me and continued to peruse the online sites for orthopedists with extensive sports medicine backgrounds, shopping for someone who would favor a return to action, even if surgery became necessary.
He found said doctor. Tomorrow is fix-it day. Thursday begins his return to action.
Funny, though, through this interchange of messages I have heard the heart of this man. Mid 50’s. Active. Has an outdoor lawn business. He needs his body to work well. It pretty much always has. When stuff like this upends us it makes us face the reality that, with or without our permission, time marches on. Our bodies don’t stay young forever. At some point, we can’t stem the tide of age and gradual (if we’re lucky) decline.
Oh, if extreme illness or circumstance have brought us to this realization earlier in life, it seems unfair. And indeed, it seems to be. Still, for those of us who are given our half-decade of relatively good health and physical performance, we consider this a raw deal. Why can’t we slow down time? How can it rob us of all the good years we know we have left?
No one can slow time, except God himself. But I wonder if the myth we hold onto – that we should be able to – may be a carrot dangled by the Great Liar himself. “Ah, there’s plenty of time, don’t worry.” “Look how healthy you are, you’re gonna live forever!” “Oh, even if something happens, you’re strong, you’re in good shape, you can get it back.” “Pay no attention to Father Time.”
And this deception takes our attention from truth: we must use well the time we have been given.
We must care for our time. Our bodies provide a tangible sense of this and an active practice for this. Things last longer and perform better when they are well cared for. For the timid among us, that may translate into (self) preservation. A kind of “don’t sit on the good couch” approach or a “put it in the safety deposit box so it can’t get stolen” approach. For the bold among us, that may translate into 3 hour workouts everyday, every week until I collapse in exhaustion. Neither under-use nor over-use are good care.
Neither honors the gift – of time in a body for exactly one life. It’s meant to be used, but also maintained for optimal performance. God alone knows our optimum.
Our time in our body is finite. Bodies well cared for last longer and perform better, but use them we must. That’s why they were given to us. But responsibly, respectfully, and attentively. It’s a give and take approach. God has given, we take and give back. When something gets rusty or run down, we check under the hood. What we can’t fix with a bit of rest or a change in routine we get checked out by the best mechanic we can find. Then, we weigh their advice and choose how to proceed.
Sometimes, we have to downshift, and watch the newer, younger models whiz past us. Let ’em feel good about passing me. I’m incredibly grateful just to still be in this race, engine running fairly well.
We do know how that worked out for the tortoise.
I Will Give You Rest
112 years
Rest is essential to recovery and rebuilding. You’ll get no debate from me; though, many of us treat it as a luxury rather than the necessity it is. Still, it always feels a bit self-serving when I’m resting, knowing the hard work that others are putting in. And I think that probably shines a flashlight into the dark of my problem. When I see another person kicking back and putting his feet up when I am busting my butt to get something done, I feel a bit perturbed. Perhaps, I grumble under my breath. More likely, I shout a few “Why don’t you DO something!”‘s to them. My children can tell you just how this sounds.
I’m thinking there are different kinds of rests. No, not half rests, whole rests and quarter rests. You band geeks are all alike. I mean different intentions of rest. Different ways to enter rest. I am indebted to Rob Fuquay, a pastor in NC and teacher at SOULfeast this year, for his suggestion of a new way to look at rest. He said the root of the word rest comes from “putting your weight on” something. Sit a spell and rest. Pull up a stool.
Abraham Verghese, in the Covenant of Water, brilliantly portrays the something as the “burdenstone.”
Rest, yes, but what I settle myself upon and where I choose to rest what has become heavy to me is key. Rob suggests we take the really weighty stuff and rest it on the claims of God. To trust God with it. It gives you kind of a picture of that “bearing one another’s burdens” and “lean on me.”
The… “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” ~ Matthew 11:28-30
That certainly sounds like an invitation we should accept, doesn’t it? So why the guilt? Probably because we are trying to prove to others in our world that we are pulling our own weight — to avoid their judgment and to avoid self-judgment.
Rest is something Christ offers, after we take His yoke. And, then it’s up to Him whether we ‘sit a spell’ or ‘don’t get too comfortable.’ Funny, when I force myself to rest, I feel restless; rarely do I feel rested. When I put the weight on Him, it all feels lighter.
Oh, the work doesn’t go away. It’s more like the heavy hand that had been holding me down has been lifted.
All By Myself, but not alone
012 years
Isn’t it funny how you can feel the difference between “no one is home” and “no one will be home for the next 6 hours”? That’s what it was like when the crowd thinned this morning and I had the whole house to myself.
I wrote that on Wednesday morning (2 days ago), the second day after the kids went back to school, but I didn’t blog it right away. Now it doesn’t seem quite so true. Already the newness has faded. I am already scurrying to accomplish even though there is no rush. No one will be home for the next 6 hours!
So I made myself – yes, twisted my own arm, sort of – to claim that moment anew. In that first opportune, anything-I-want-to moment, what shall I do? I sat down at the baby grand piano and played from the hymnal. It was open to “Breathe on Me, Breath of God.”
I had bellied up to the keyboard on Tuesday but got an unwelcome surprise. The keyboard was sticky. Not juice-spilled sticky, but hadn’t-been-cleaned-in-a while sticky. Now, you can do a bunch of things and ignore a few crumbs. Think, Starbucks table or library study carrel. But not with the piano. Piano is something you do “by feel.” It’s by nature, kinesthetic. Not at first, mind you. When you’re first learning, you hunt and peck – like any keyboard (and still for those of us who never took typing in high school). But at some point, I’m not sure when, you start feeling for the notes. And this makes playing fluid.
Now, learning to play was a long ago experience for me. I remember it feeling like an eternity to wait until I was 8 years old and I could take lessons. For some reason, 8 was a magic number. By 10, I was so over this, and I quit taking lessons. But my family always had a piano and there were always books with music to play and words to sing. So I bitsed my way through Classic Oldies and Classical melodies, show tunes and pop, blues and Christmas carols. It was an incredibly eclectic mix, and it all happened by accident. Because the books were there and so was the instrument. And no parent told me that I had to practice for my lesson.
So, it was probably a mistake when I signed on last fall with an experienced neighborhood piano teacher to take a year’s worth of lessons. We (really I, as I am the one who plays) had inherited this beautiful baby grand piano from my father in law. His children don’t play. Imagine!! It seemed like due diligence to go back and really learn the proper technique to play.
I hated lessons. It makes me nervous to have to perform, even in front of a little 80 year old teacher. And she is a gifted and diligent teacher, complete with listening tapes and scales and theory and reports on composers. She is, above all, an educator. Totally devoted to the study and craft of music.
I toughed it out. Practiced. Listened. Played. On the way, I found out a few things about myself:
- I can’t remember what I hear. This makes it difficult to recognize what are thirds and fifths after you hear them. Any 8 year old can do this. Not me.
- I don’t enjoy playing the same thing over and over again, no matter how lovely it sounds when you have completed it. Two months on the same song is 1 1/2 months too long.
- Artistic perfection is a real stumbling block to me. Seeking to do something perfectly gets in the way of my enjoyment. Perfection is not fun (see earlier posts :))
- I play by feel, and this comes after I have done it a few times. So, I was doomed to failure at lessons because I would go awry every first time through a piece. Patient teacher would correct. I would start again with mindset of failure. Downward spiraling loop.
So, I guess it was an odd sort of blessing last spring when I injured my hamstring such that I required surgery and a surgical brace on my hip. Because it prevented me from sitting upright for quite sometime. This meant I couldn’t feel the piano in the same way, which meant I could excuse myself from my lesson commitments.
That brings us right up to today. Where I sat at the keyboard – newly cleaned keys, cushioned seat and no brace – and tickled the ivories. The first time through, I heard my teacher correcting me:
“Play that chord exactly together. Reach for that note with the other hand. Ooh, was that sharp? Go back and do it again.”
I know that if she were listening to me play she would hear all those mistakes. But on this morning, I went back to my 8 year old approach, the same one I used to use when I accompanied my now 20 year old daughter singing along. The way that says: just keep the rhythm; don’t correct the mistakes; just play to the end. And that hymn became prayer. Missed sharps and off key as it was. It was offered in the Spirit of perfection which says, “Just play and let me make it beautiful.”
Breathe on me breath of God,
fill me with life anew.
that I may love what thou dost love
and do what thou wouldst do.
Why do I try so hard when all I really need to do is ask?